


He Came In Through The Bedroom Window

by benevolens



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes (2009) RPF
Genre: F/M, Minor beatles reference hehe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6432841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benevolens/pseuds/benevolens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's been talking inside his head again and he's made a grave mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Came In Through The Bedroom Window

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> Just a quick little thing since I haven't been able to do much in terms of series writing. I'll get back to that soon, promise. 
> 
> xx

One night he comes in through the window. How? I wasn't too sure, but he was apparently adept at climbing fire escapes and ledges. I could feel the cool breeze utterly disturb the warmth I had created, damn him. He had the audacity to take ages to wriggle his fit body through the small space and suck every ounce of warmth that my blanket had been trying to hold on. His highness proceeds to slowly shut the window as to not make noise which was pointless when I am already awake! 

But for once, I know something Sherlock Holmes didn't. 

So, I continue to watch him and wonder why he hadn't used his key at the door or picked the lock because he was a massive idiot. The only reason I can come up with  
is that he was bored beyond belief and had no one better to inflict himself on than yours truly. 

Once the window is firmly closed and locked lest other idiots have the bright idea of scaling five floors to get into my bedroom, Sherlock is slipping off his coat. Then, his suit jacket. And his shirt. It's almost on purpose and highly painful how slow he is doing it.

Maybe he knows I'm awake. 

If he does, he is a massive git. 

And he's a sadist because he's well aware of how in love I am with him. Even though I'll never say it. Not now that we are good friends. But him taking off his clothes in a sensual manner at an ungodly hour in my bedroom is just torture because I know where he's going to go when he's done. 

So, right. He's still unbuttoning. Maybe because he can't see.

The fucker can see just fine because in a swift movement the shirt's pulled out from his hip hugging trousers and then those are flying off his legs too. He's now scampering towards the bed and I want to get out and throttle him, but I'm watching Sherlock crawl under the covers next to me from the corner of my eye. For some bloody reason (because all ability to reason is beyond me at this point), Sherlock is still being careful and unwrapping me as little as possible so that he can slip into the cocoon I've made.  
I accidentally groan when his icy excuse for feet touch my leg and I sound far too awake. 

I've been caught. 

"Shh, Molly don't fuss. Didn't you tell me 'sharing is caring'? I'm quite in need of warmth. Besides I was nearly thrown in the Thames and the shock blanket wasn't very helpful." He is whispering into my ear with hot breath (it's the only thing about him actually giving off heat) and pressing all of himself up against my warm skin and I feel myself in a full shiver. I'm shaking and cursing him with the most profane things I can think of in my head and this--this fucking horrid man has wrapped his gangly icicle of a body right around me and is sighing with contentment. 

He is now slowly warming and I'm fucking freezing my arse off and god, he's half naked! Oh, shit, Sherlock is putting his massive head on my chest and his cheek is freezing against my previously warm collarbone. 

Is that what I think it is pressed to my hip? 

What the hell is going on? 

Decorum be damned. 

"What the f-f-fuck d'you th-think you are p-playing at?!" I manage through chattering teeth. 

He lets out another contented sigh. "Body heat, Molly. Sharing usually can stave off hypothermia." 

"N-not if-f you just give it to me!" 

"Shh, Molly." 

"I'll f-f-fuckin' shh you. Get the hell off m-m-me!"  
I was trying hard to push him off me, but either he was heavier than he looked or I was too tired and the blanket he had masterfully tucked around us both had him securely attached to me.  
"Molly?" I can hear the sudden shyness in his voice and I can feel him pulling himself away, but I'm too angry, confused and mildly aroused to give a shit if he is upset. 

"You can't just climb in through the window and strip and get under the covers and cling to me like we--like we're--Not to mention your friend down there! What the hell is that about?!" 

He's staring at me in the dark with that buffering face and I think I'm glaring daggers. 

"Didn't I tell you?" 

"What?! About you nearly falling in the Thames? I don't care right now. I was quite happy being warm." 

"Oh." 

He's dejected? About what?

"What did you think you told me, Sherlock?!"

I can hear him swallowing thickly while he's figuring out what to tell me now.

"You've been having conversations in your head again." 

Git.

But he's still bloody silent! 

"Tell me now or I'm kicking you out. I can't have you doing this." 

He lets out a huge sigh and shifts to lay on his back and look up at the ceiling. 

"Sherlock!" I reach over to smack his arm with the back of my hand because there's an anxious feeling growing in my chest and somehow I think I know what was going to come out of his mouth. 

"I told you the thing...Those words." He huffs his breath and is crossing his arms over his chest and letting all the damn cold air in!

"What words and when was I supposed to have heard you say them?" 

"Two weeks ago. Those words, Molly. Don't make me say them again!" 

"I haven't heard them! How am I making you say them again? I'll count to ten shall I? And if you don't spit them out now, you aren't welcome in my bedroom anymore." 

That's got his attention. His head darts to look at me and I can tell how stuck he is, but there is only one way to end this.  
"And don't expect favours or anything. I'm your friend, not your servant." 

"Molly." He's warning me, but it's far too late for that sort of tone to stop me.  
"All right. 1...2...3..."  
He's going to fight it up until the end and I can't help wondering if he won't say anything. My bluff gets called and it's curtains on Sherlock. God, that would be painful. 

"7...8...9...9 and a half..."

"I love you, Molly! Don't throw me out. Don't take yourself from me!"  
It sounds more desperate than I thought it would and more than he obviously thought by the look that had been on his face. Plus, there's the fact that he's grabbing onto me with all his strength and hiding his extremely warm face against my chest.  
"Is that all? Well, that's certainly interesting." It's definitely my turn to play with him now. 

"Is that all you can say to me, Molly? After I--" He is mumbling his despair into my skin and perhaps it's cruel to think I should play with him. 

"You know how I feel for you. You've always known." My voice loses the boldness and I sink a hand into his curls as comfort. For the both of us.  
"I suppose this is why you've been climbing into my bed nearly every night and I wake up with your arm around me. You thought my silence was because I had accepted and knew you told me? You can be so daft for a genius. You know that right?" 

"Maybe." 

He is acting like a complete child, but I can't help how light my heart feels and how much I just want him to curl himself around me again. I go quiet and I take the time to seriously comprehend that my hand is in his hair and he really seems to like it. 

"Sherlock?" 

"What?" 

I lean in and whisper into his ear. "I love you." I'm wondering if he's still got enough courage for one more thing.

"I-I love you too, Molly Hooper."


End file.
